


And What He Found There

by velcroboyfriends



Series: Mirror, Mirror [2]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Career, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Anal Sex, Angst, Infidelity sort of?, M/M, Museum AU, Performance Art, Rimming, Seriously y'all a lot of angst, coming out issues, musical theatre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4826387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velcroboyfriends/pseuds/velcroboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Lee heads off to London to premiere his new piece, he and Richard struggle with difficulties in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Flags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee and Richard hit a stumbling block in their relationship.

 "Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!”

\- _Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There_ , Lewis Carroll

 

 

* * *

 

The thing was, Lee thought as he sat in his uncomfortable little chair at the airport's gate, he could have dealt with it if it had only happened once. Maybe twice, even. But part of learning to take care of and understand himself was learning to see red flags, and when too many flags went up, it just didn't make sense to ignore them and carry on. A guy had to learn, after a while. It was too dangerous not to.

 

* * *

 

It had started after opening night of The Secret Garden, when Lee had gone to the stage door. There weren't many people there - it was an off-Broadway show, after all, no big stars, just a few groups of friends and family of the cast. It was bitter cold, and Lee hoped Richard would get out of costume quickly so he could find some warmth in the man's arms. One by one, cast members came out: first Patrick, who Lee'd heard so many stories about he felt he might as well know the guy himself, then Paula, then (with the sort of face-splitting grin Lee had honestly never seen on him before) Richard.

"Rich," Lee called out, and Richard's eyes lit up when he caught sight of him. Richard moved through the group of people easily, his broad, tall frame alerting anyone near him to his presence. With Richard within reach, Lee held out a hand to reach around Richard's back and pull him in for a kiss, but Richard caught the hand in his own, shaking it and pulling Lee in not for a kiss but for some semblance of a one-armed hug. Lee hugged back, feeling bewildered. This was hardly the gesture he'd imagined.

Later, as they stumbled together into Richard's apartment tripping over each other's long limbs, as Richard closed the door and pressed Lee up against it, Lee held a couple fingers to Richard's lips, stopping him.

"Hey," Lee said, insistent on getting his answer. "What was - what was with that straight-guy hug back at stage door?"

"Hmm?" Richard's attempt at a casual look reeked of practice. "Nothing, I just... not much for PDA." It rang false - after all, there was a bathroom stall at that bar Lee'd dragged Richard to back when this had all begun that begged to differ. But Richard's beard and lips and teeth were deliciously rough against Lee's neck, and his hand was already fumbling with Lee's belt, and as Richard sank to his knees and tugged Lee's jeans down in one fluid motion, he let it go.

"God _damn_ ," Lee groaned as Richard mouthed at his cock, his balls, then lifted Lee's leg up to rest on the man's shoulder as he angled his head in and up and pressed a hot tongue to his entrance. The firm musculature of it was slick and insistent, pressing into him. Lee grasped at Richard's hair with one hand and the coat hook mounted on the wall next to the door with the other, for some semblance of balance. Richard's hands on his hips held him firm enough that even when Richard's tongue curled just _there_ and Lee's knees began to wobble, he still stayed on his feet.

Just as Lee was thinking that he needed more, he felt a finger pressing in alongside tongue, and then another, stretching him just right, just enough to burn a little. Richard's fingers continued their hurried presses in and out as Richard mouthed his way back to Lee's cock. Of all Richard's talents, the man's cock-sucking was one of Lee's favorites, the way he took pleasure in _giving_ pleasure, the way he approached the task with eagerness and a certain deftness that always had Lee struggling to keep control.

"Please," Lee whimpered as Richard added another long finger, arching them just right. Richard looked up, a mad glint in his eyes, took a deep breath in through his nose, and opened his throat, sinking forward until Lee's cock was buried to the hilt, thrusting his fingers all the while. It was all so much, too much, and Lee fought to keep from coming right then and there. "Fuck, please, _please_." Richard pulled back with a gasp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"'Please' what?" Richard said, and it brought the memory of their first time back in sharp focus, when he'd said those words - but they sounded far prettier in Richard's tones. The man's voice was hoarse, his smile loose and dirty, and he leaned in to lick alongside his fingers inside Lee's entrance, getting it even more slick before pressing in another finger, a fourth, and _god_ , it felt fantastic, but Lee knew what would feel even better.

"Please fuck me," Lee gritted out, rocking down against Richard's fingers, desperate to feel the stretch even deeper. Richard's fingers pulled out then as Richard rose to his feet, and Lee felt empty without them. He tugged Richard's belt open, unzipped his pants and lowered them just enough to pull out that beautiful cock. Lee spat thick in his hand and curled it around Richard's shaft, slicking it up while Richard pressed his lips to Lee's, his tongue curling against Lee's own.

"Right here?" Richard murmured when they came up from the kiss for air. Richard hoisted Lee's leg up again, this time around his waist, and Lee thanked the sex gods for the perfect way their heights and hips lined up as Richard's cock rubbed along the cleft of his ass.

"Right here," Lee echoed, and the head of Richard's cock was pressing against him, and then it was slipping inside, so tight with his torso upright and his legs so close together like this, and Richard was sinking deeper and deeper and stretching Lee wide open, and Lee's head thudded back against the wood of the door as Richard bottomed out, their bodies sealed together from top to bottom, no space between them. They breathed in and out together, and then Richard began to move, little twitches and rolls of his hips.

"God," Lee said, "You were - you were so fucking good up there tonight." Richard's hands and lips wandered over Lee's neck and chest, undoing buttons on the shirt that still hung from his shoulders, tongue and teeth darting out at the most sensitive spots. "When you sang, I - _oh_ \- you were just - yes, _there_ \- I was so..." Lee's speech drifted off into a long whine of a sigh as Richard's cock pressed into him just right. His fingers tightened on their handhold on the hook, while the other hand moved down to knead into Richard's ass, urging him on.

"Do tell," Richard said into Lee's ear, and Lee let out a breathless laugh that turned quickly into a groan as Richard's hand wandered lower to wrap around Lee's cock, jerking it fast and rough. "You can - can give me the review later, after - _fuck_." Richard's thrusts sped, his strength shoving Lee hard against the door.

"Yeah, after that," Lee breathed, and writhed against Richard, doing his best to meet each thrust with a roll of his hips. His thigh was quaking from strain where it looped around Richard's waist, but all he cared about was the press of their bodies, the way Richard's cock filled him so completely.

"So close," Richard gasped out, and the rich, low timbre of his voice seemed to rumble through Lee's whole body, lighting sparks within him that grew until they took over, his vision going starry. Lee cried out, clutching at Richard's back, and came hard, his head knocking back once more against the door. The thrusts of Richard's cock and the strokes of his hand continued, drawing out Lee's climax longer than he'd thought possible, until he thought he couldn't bear another second, it was so good, and then Richard stilled, growling low and shoving deep inside to pour forth.

"Well," Lee said, after they'd clutched at one another gasping for a long moment of silence. "That's one way to celebrate opening night." And any concerns he'd had were a puff of smoke blown away by the wind.

 

* * *

 

"Attention, passengers," a mumbled, too-loud voice announced through the speaker, and Lee winced at each over-sibilant S. Even if he'd gotten _any_ sleep last night, it wouldn't have been enough to make that tolerable. "British Airways flight 3098 to London Heathrow will now begin boarding. Any passengers traveling with children or who need special assistance, please come forward now." Lee scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear away the thoughts that plagued him, but it didn't help. As he waited for his chance to board the plane, memory surged back.

 

* * *

 

They'd been little things, really, hands not held and kisses deflected to the cheek. It wasn't all the time, either. The two of them would still make the journey to Richard's apartment with fingers laced tightly, would still feed one another bits of pastry in the bakery after Richard got off work, touches lingering just long enough between lips to make Lee shiver. But then they'd be walking through Midtown and suddenly Richard would stiffen and draw away. That was the confusing thing, really - that Lee never knew when Richard would suddenly go cold on him, and never knew if it had somehow been his fault.

It didn't help matters that Lee was deep into the soul-searching phase of his work, doing his best to journal and meditate and generally mine his psyche for inspiration for his next piece. It wasn't something he was used to doing, although occasionally he'd been pushed to it in art school. In the past his art had come from without, not from within, and doing this sort of work weighed on him heavily. He was digging up things that his mind had worked hard to keep buried, things that he knew would make his art better but which he feared facing. And with his emotions scraped raw and rising up to the very surface of him, slights like these were like salt in a papercut you never even knew you had.

One morning, for example, Lee was lying in Richard's bed, watching him bustle around tidying things. The man's apartment had lain fallow (and filthy, although Lee had tried to keep quiet about it) during tech and the first couple weeks of performances, but Richard had decided today that it was finally time to bite the bullet on his day off from the bakery and shine the place up. Lee, lying naked on his stomach with his chin propped on his hands at the foot of the bed, knew he was hardly helping things, but - well, if his ass served as a distraction, that only proved his determination not to try to _fix_ Richard, didn't it?

The phone rang then, on the side table next to the bed, and as Richard was preoccupied with shoving binders of sheet music back up on a high closet shelf, Lee was the one to pick it up with a simple "Hello."

"Hi," said a perky voice, "Is, uh... is Richard there?"

"Indeed he is," Lee said smoothly, "Just a moment." He held out the phone to Richard, who at first took it gladly, but whose face, as the person on the other end of the line began to speak, grew stricken.

"No, that was, ah... Yeah, yeah," Richard said with a stilted sort of attempted laugh, then listened for a bit. "All right, I'll keep it in mind... Yes... Thank you. I'll see you at the show, Emily. Goodbye." Through the phone call, Richard had kept up an affect of polite charm, but as he hung up, his face went dark and he turned toward Lee.

"Please," Richard said with such a measured calmness that it felt almost menacing, "Do not answer my telephone again." Lee was so shocked that he agreed without a word of protest.

 

* * *

 

"Zone three, please begin boarding," the voice said, and Lee pushed himself to shaky legs, all his joints creaking like he'd aged ten years overnight. His satchel was dead weight across his shoulder, his feet trudging limply across the ridiculously patterned airport carpet. He hadn't slept, not after the evening he'd had. No, his mind had been far too much on fire for him to sleep - on fire with regrets for words said and words unsaid, regrets for getting himself into this mess in the first place, regrets for killing a relationship before it had a chance to really become something great.

As usual.

 

* * *

 

They went out for dinner on Lee's last night in New York, to the Italian place where they'd had their first proper date. It was fitting, going there, and it also exposed how very much had changed since that night. Lee remembered being there and trying to do everything he could to impress Richard, to give him the side of himself that Lee thought Richard would best like. He'd talked about his work, thinking it would just be one of those blithe arty conversations that happened so often between colleagues.

But Richard had gotten what he was doing, asked him what he had up next not in that way artists did, where it was just a ploy to get Lee to ask them what _they_ were doing next, but because he wanted to know. He'd wanted to _know_ Lee, in a way far more intimate than any biblical sense of the word. And when Lee had admitted, sans bullshit, that he had no idea what to do next, when he hadn't gone to his usual well of flippant brush-off answers, when he'd told the truth... that had shaken him. They'd fucked that night, but it had been more than that. It was always more than that with them.

Now Richard did know Lee, in a way he'd never let someone know him before. It was scary, being himself - it felt selfish, in a way, but selfless, too. And as they sat there, eating and talking and brushing fingers together across the table, Lee felt like he knew Richard, too, and not just what he wanted, but who he was. At least, he felt like he knew Richard until they were leaving, the bill paid and the bottle of wine finished, and suddenly, as Richard looked to the door of the restaurant, he froze up. His hand dropped Lee's, his posture straightened up and away.

"Richard!" said a voice as a woman came in - Daniela, Lee recognized, from the show. Richard's face went from a fearful grimace to a charming smile quick as flicking a switch.

"Hello, stranger," Richard said, and he seemed that way to Lee, too: a stranger. He moved away from Lee to hug Daniela, and Lee couldn't help but notice the way her hands lingered around his waist a little too long. Lee inched closer, waiting for Richard to introduce him, and when Richard turned back to look at Lee, his face showed none of the warmth of the past hour.

"This is my friend, Lee," Richard said, and Lee felt his stomach drop. The words rang cold in his ears, and his cheeks heated, his fingers tingled. His whole body felt charged with anger and betrayal and unworthiness. Here he was, thinking he knew this man, when he really didn't know him at all. Daniela smiled at him, friendly and polite, totally unaware of what was boiling inside him.

"Nice to meet you," Lee forced out, and tried to keep his movements loose as he reached out to shake Daniela's hand. Richard stalled for a moment, silent, and Lee knew that if they stayed any longer, something would erupt that he couldn't take back, and so he said, "We should probably get going."

"We should," Richard said. He and Daniela said friendly goodbyes that Lee didn't bother to listen to. He stared at the door, willing himself to stay silent until they'd gone out of it. Daniela and the rest of the restaurant patrons didn't need to be a part of this issue. Before long, Richard was at his side again, walking in step with him out of the restaurant, as though everything were the same as it had been just a couple minutes ago.

Lee made it half a block past the restaurant before he stopped and wheeled about, staring Richard down.

"What," he said, trying to stay calm, "Was that?" Richard looked at his feet, a sheepish look on his face, and it tugged at a sympathetic nerve in Lee, but not hard enough.

"I just didn't think it was the right time to..."

"To tell the truth?" Lee snapped. Richard looked up at him, his eyes sad but his mouth set.

"To come out," the man said softly.

"You're out," Lee insisted, "You're out as _hell_. How many times have we kissed in public, how many times have I introduced you as my boyfriend?" He scoffed. "What, you don't want your old _girlfriend_ to know you're gay?"

"She's not - we never - and I'm -" Richard was floundering, barely able to look Lee in the eye. "All that has been in your world, where it's safer. In mine, I don't... I can't."

"You don't feel safe to come out in the fucking _theatre_?"

"You wouldn't understand," Richard said, shaking his head.

"Oh, I understand." Where Richard was all nerves, Lee was cold steel. He'd _been here_. "I spent my teenage years in Texas - I've done the whole closet-case thing. And when I got out of there, I swore I'd never do that again. Not for anyone. Not for you."

"If people think I'm gay," Richard insisted, "I'll be typecast. I won't have the same range available to me."

"So you show them you're not just one thing!"

"I don't know if I can do that," Richard said. He looked defeated now, closed off. Lee took a step back.

"Then I don't know if I can do this." Lee could feel his eyes prickling with tears, his throat closing up. He looked at Richard, waiting for him to say something, _anything_ , but the man stayed silent. Lee turned and began to walk. Behind him, Richard rushed after him, grasping at his wrist.

"Lee, please," Richard was saying, and Lee turned around.

"If you want me to stay," Lee said slowly. "Go back in there and tell her the truth." Richard's grip on Lee's wrist tightened, his eyes widened.

"Please," Richard murmured again, but made no move. Lee shook his head and tugged his arm from Richard's grasp.

"I'm sorry, Richard," Lee said, and took one last long look at him, and then he was off.

 

* * *

 

Outside the window of the plane, they were zooming past the other planes on the tarmac as they taxied toward the runway. Take-off often made Lee nervous, but he was too tired and preoccupied for that. Instead of the usual anxieties, all that replayed in his head, again and again, was that last moment. Had he been too quick to give up? What if he'd given Richard another minute to explain himself, or to change his mind?

Lee sighed, slumping in his seat. He'd done the right thing, he was sure of it. He couldn't live his life hiding his love from the world, no matter how good that love was. He couldn't bear to be introduced as Richard's friend, to pretend there was nothing more between them than an artistic camaraderie. And if Richard wasn't willing to be truthful about himself to others, then what could he be hiding from Lee? Yes, it had been the right thing - at least, Lee hoped it was.

It was a good thing, anyway, Lee thought, with this new piece to work on. If his goal was to find himself and express that self, he couldn't be worrying about someone else. He would do just fine on his own. And as the plane began to rise above the ground, Lee steeled himself. He would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I'm sorry to start a fic with a heartbreak, but trust me, it's going to be interesting! And I did my best to include a nice sex scene to tide us all over for a while xD


	2. A Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard seeks solace from his heartbreak.

It hurt.

It hurt so much that Richard didn't know how much of it he could bear. He'd gone home and cried himself to sleep in a lonely, empty bed, and when he'd woken up the next morning, he'd only had a moment of peace before he'd remembered and started crying all over again. It felt like a loss, like a death, because in a way it was, although not a death of a person. It was the death of what they'd had.

It had all been so stupid, too, the way it had ended. One little disagreement - although Richard had to admit it hadn't been that one incident. He knew Lee had noticed the way he'd pulled away around the people from the theatre, knew it hurt the other man in little, indefinable ways. He'd shocked himself that morning Lee had answered that call from Emily, with the coldness, the way he'd scolded him. What had given him the right?

But what had given Lee the right to give up on them just like that, to walk away when they could have talked things out? Giving him an ultimatum like that and then flying off to London - it was shitty in a way that he'd never expected from Lee. If Lee had lost interest now that Richard was on a better path, he might have understood it as the natural expression of all the things he'd feared ever since that night at the bar with Mark.

Richard had been miserable all week, to the point that many people at the theatre - Emily especially, for she couldn't have an actor falling apart on her watch - had asked after his well-being. He'd pled illness or lack of sleep (the latter of which was true, at least, although it was an effect more than a cause) to anyone who'd expressed concern, and had done his best to channel all that sadness and anger - yes, anger, because it wasn't _fair_ of Lee to expect Richard to reveal everything about his personal life to the people he worked with - into his performances.

Richard wasn't a method actor by any means, and had never desired to be one; in his training, he'd always preferred physical and intellectual techniques to pure sense memory. But when he had emotions available pre-made to pour into the character, he was hardly one to turn that sort of dramatic ammunition down. When he sang of Lily's rejection of Neville, he sang of Lee's rejection of him, and it seemed to work splendidly, allowing him to feel Neville's feelings with barely any effort. His performance had always been that of a down-trodden man, but now he used that spark of indignation to discover something entirely new in the character, and his castmates took notice.

"You absolutely _killed_ it tonight, Rich," Patrick said at the cast party celebrating their first month's run, just a little gathering at the flat the man rented in Chelsea. Richard wished it didn't remind him of Lee's place, where he'd spent so many happy days and sleepless nights - sleepless in the good way, not in the way he suffered lately. "Maybe the lack of sleep is your secret weapon." Richard smirked vaguely and sipped at the very large rum-and-coke he'd poured himself in the kitchen. He'd had a few already, and the warmth of it had nearly chased away the pangs of sadness.

"Then I'll sleep no more," Richard pronounced grandly. He was glad, at least, that his performances were benefiting from the heartbreak. Perhaps it would be good for him in the long run, having gone through this. And it would be simpler if he didn't have to hide anything. He'd done his best to hide how frequently Lee had attended the shows - he'd made it to six performances before his departure - although Dora had likely been picking up on it. Now that wouldn't be a problem.

"Careful, now," Patrick said, laying a hand to Richard's shoulder, "A good performance isn't worth misery, you know." Richard nodded as though he agreed. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, he should make a point of having his heart good and broken more often. He took a long gulp from his nearly-finished drink as Patrick's hand slid from his arm and the man wandered off to chat with the rest of his guests. Richard looked around and his eyes caught on Daniela, sitting alone on the couch, her own drink in hand.

"Evening," Richard said as he plopped down perhaps a bit less gracefully than he'd planned onto the couch cushion next to her. Daniela grinned and angled toward him.

"You've cheered up," Daniela said, and Richard found himself echoing the statement with a smile. His face curled into it easily, the muscles loosened by the alcohol.

"A stiff drink'll do that." Richard lifted his glass and tipped it slightly toward Daniela's, then took another drink from it as Daniela did the same.

"And a good show," Daniela added. "It _was_ a good show, really, Richard." She placed a hand on his forearm. "You deserve a bigger part than this, you know." Richard shook his head.

"Let's not talk about what I deserve," he said quietly. He drained the last of his drink and set it down on the table in front of the couch. He let his body relax into the cushions, turning to the side so he could look at Daniela.

"Do you ever miss _North and South_?" Daniela asked, her eyes all wistfulness and nostalgia.

"All the time," he said, "All the bloody time." The memories of that show had once made him feel bitter, but these days he was always made happy when he thought of the adventure they'd all been on together - the two of them, especially. They'd just been kids then, young and stupid and just as stubbornly passionate as the characters they'd played. Life had felt exciting and full of promise, and that sort of promise was just as intoxicating as the rum curling warm in his stomach.

"I miss acting with you," Daniela said. "Singing with you. I mean, we sort of do that now, but..."

"It's not the same," Richard said, and it wasn't. They'd had a closeness then that he'd never had in any other role, with any other actor. They'd been something special together on that stage.

"Patrick's wonderful, but... sometimes I wish you were the one playing Archie." Richard chuckled.

"Oh god, can you imagine those high notes?" He squeaked out a few falsetto tones, then dissolved into giggles, Daniela laughing right along with them, until they were graceless piles on the couch, Richard alternating between high squeaks and peals of laughter. It felt good, for the first time in what had begun to feel like forever, to laugh and smile and joke. And it felt strangely right to be doing it with Daniela.

"You're drunk," she accused between fits of laughter, and Richard picked up his empty glass with a shake of his head.

"Not drunk enough," Richard said, and he knew as soon as he'd said it that it was true. In the back of his mind, the thought of Lee was beginning to creep in, and Richard knew he couldn't keep the thoughts away by sheer will alone. He needed a distraction, and in this instance the most convenient one seemed to be alcohol. "I'll be right back."

Daniela waved a faux-tearful goodbye as Richard wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. They'd done the party potluck style, with everyone contributing some booze to the supply, so there was a great amount to choose from. Richard poured a couple fingers of the rum he'd been drinking into his glass, considered it, then moved his hand up the glass and poured a couple more. The bottle of Coke was still half-full on the counter, and he picked it up, then put it down again, instead taking a swig from the glass. The rum didn't burn anymore - instead he could taste the flavour of it in fine definition. It was nice, and he drained the rest of it.

His glass empty, Richard leaned back against the counter and stared into the bottom of it a good while, as though he could see something in there that would give him the answers to questions he wasn't even sure of. The ambient noise of the party was quieter than it had been the last time he'd come in here to pour himself a drink - it was winding down. He thought about heading home, about taking the long subway ride back to his empty flat and falling asleep in a cold, empty bed. The thought made him shiver a little.

"Richard?" He looked up a few moments after he heard the words, his reaction delayed. Daniela was peering into the kitchen. "Thought I'd make sure you hadn't fallen into the sink," she said, moving into the room.

"Haven't been in here long," Richard muttered. "I was just thinking."

"Thinking long thoughts, apparently," Daniela said. She propped herself up against the counter next to Richard, looking up at him. "Sad thoughts, from the look of it." Richard shook his head and tried to paste a smile back on his face, but he knew it rang false. He put his glass down.

"A bit," he admitted. Daniela placed her hand over his where it gripped the counter, lifting it to fold her fingers around it. Richard looked over at her, at the warm, sympathetic look in her eyes. She raised his hand slowly to her lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it, and Richard knew this blocking, knew it even ten years later. He knew what came next.

Carefully, Richard touched his fingers to Daniela's cheek, and she looked up into his face. Suddenly it was like the ten years had vanished, like he was right back where he'd been then, when he'd been Thornton but also been himself a little bit - a lot, really. Falling in love with her hadn't been an act, not back then. He'd been smitten, and the feelings still lingered there within him, afterimages. He hadn't been sure, then, if she'd felt the same, but now it was clear she did, or at least that she did now.

Their foreheads bent together, and she nodded a little, just as she had on stage every night, and then Richard was leaning in to kiss her, soft and sweet and lingering, with a touch of caution. That was how the kiss had always stayed, between John and Margaret, but now Richard felt no such need for caution. He surged into the kiss, and Daniela met him with equal fervor. He broke her grip on his hand to clutch at her hip, turning to press her against the countertop.

"Why didn't we do this ten years ago?" Daniela murmured when they came up for air. "Off stage?"

"Because it was vastly... vastly... unprofessional," Richard said, punctuating the words with kisses to her neck. She smelled of lovely floral perfume, the sort of thing he hadn't smelled this intimately in a long time. "Still is."

"Fuck professional." Daniela cupped her hands around Richard's face, bringing his lips back to hers. She took Richard's lower lip between her own, sucking and nipping at it, and Richard was just letting out a soft little groan when he heard a voice behind him.

"Oh god, sorry!" someone said, and Richard didn't turn to see who it was, didn't _care_ who it was. Daniela giggled sheepishly.

"Shall we get out of here?" she asked, tipping her head. Richard didn't consider the question, didn't even answer, just turned to get his things. They piled on their coats and scarves and hats hastily, and Richard didn't bother saying any goodbyes, hoped to make a subtle exit. As they emerged onto the street together without comment from any of the other actors, he figured they'd succeeded, with the one exception from the kitchen.

"My place is nearby," Daniela suggested, and Richard nodded, offering his arm like a proper gentleman. In that moment they really could have been Margaret and John, strolling off down the street, although the times when one of them shot the other a particularly desperate look that ended in that one pressed against a lamppost or a wall for a lewd public demonstration belied their less polite purpose.

It took significantly longer than it probably would have if they hadn't stopped to snog like horny teenagers every couple blocks, but eventually Richard found himself stumbling into Daniela's flat. He made for the couch as the most convenient surface, but she gripped his waist and tugged him toward the bedroom.

"Come on," she murmured, "Let's do this properly." And as they fell together onto the bed, Richard found his head empty of everything outside this one moment in time.

* * *

When Richard woke up in a dark room, an unfamiliar bed, the first thought he had was that his head was absolutely _murdering_ him. The second thought he had was, approximately: _shit_.

Beyond the curtains over the window, the sun was only just beginning to consider peeking up beyond the horizon, but it gave just enough light that he could see Daniela, sleeping soundly with the faintest hint of a smile on her face. Memories had begun to trickle into Richard's head as soon as he'd woken, but now, looking at her, it all surged back in full, just what he'd done. Richard wished he could have that same sort of smile on his face.

Sleep was a foregone conclusion at this point. Richard sat up, bringing his fingers to his temples in an attempt to massage the pain out of his skull, but the movement - and possibly the memories - brought a new symptom to light, and before he could think about it, he was bolting out of bed and down the little hall outside of it, searching for a toilet.

Richard barely made it into the little room off the hall and threw the lid and seat up before he was dropping to his knees in front of the toilet and retching roughly into it. Every muscle went limp, and he sagged forward to lean on the rim of the bowl, pressing his forehead into the cold porcelain of the upturned seat. He spat bitterness, trying to clear the taste from his mouth, but it lingered terribly.

In the cold light of the room, with no other light in the flat but the one he'd hastily flicked on in there, Richard felt terribly, painfully alone, more than he would've in his own place. What he wished for in that moment, more than anything else, was for Lee to come padding down the hall, to fuss over him and take him in his warm, comforting arms. When Richard closed his eyes, he could almost feel Lee's hands smoothing across his back.

The sound footsteps in the hallway nearly had Richard fooled for a second, but as soon as he heard Daniela's light voice, the illusion was broken and he was back to misery.

"Richard?" she murmured, turning on the hall light. Richard winced. "Are you all right?" Richard dragged the back of his hand across his mouth before he turned around to meet her eyes. He wanted to tell her everything right then, but the words wouldn't come forth.

"I'm just... really hung over," Richard said quietly. At least that was no lie - he was sure he'd be recovering from this one all day. Daniela's brow furrowed in concern as she reached out to touch Richard's back. He shrank away. In this moment, he felt more naked than he ever had before, with Daniela dressed in a floral robe she must've thrown on before leaving her bedroom and him bare as a newborn, curled in on himself.

"Can I get you anything?" Daniela asked. "Water?" Richard shook his head.

"I should - I should go home," he mumbled. He coughed and spat a few more times before rolling out some toilet paper to wipe his face and flushing it all down. He turned on the faucet in the sink and gathered cold water in his hands to rinse out his mouth. Daniela just watched, clearly in over her head. This, Richard knew, wasn't what she'd signed up for. She'd wanted to rekindle what they'd almost had ten years ago, and he - he'd just wanted a distraction. It was shameful.

"Are you sure?" Daniela asked. "It's seven in the morning, you could go back to sleep for a little while. Sleep it off."

"No, no." Richard hurried back down the hall to her room and gathered his clothes up, dressing hastily. He looked a right mess, he knew it, but he had to go. "I'm sorry," he said. It was all he could manage, and he repeated it. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for." Daniela moved toward Richard, traced fingertips over his shoulder. She leaned in to press a kiss to his lips, but he turned his head to redirect her to his cheek.

"My mouth tastes of sick, you don't want that." As Richard finished buttoning up his coat, he moved away toward the door. Daniela trailed behind, looking lost but cautiously optimistic.

"Well," she said as Richard paused just in front of the door to her flat. "I'll see you on Tuesday, I suppose." Richard forced a polite smile to his face. She didn't deserve rudeness, not when he was the one who'd been terrible.

"Yes," he said. "See you then." He took her hand, squeezed it in his own, then turned and made a hasty exit before he could say anything stupid.

Richard's head was swimming as he made his way down the icy pavement. How had he done something so bloody stupid? He'd known how Daniela felt about him, and yet he'd let her get close anyway, let her do the obvious thing. How was she to know the truth of the matter, when he'd kept it hidden from everyone around him?

Richard couldn't let it go any further - that much he knew. Not yet, at least, not when he was still so freshly wounded. Perhaps, when the memories of what he'd had with Lee weren't so sharp, he'd be ready. But now, with his heart in pieces, this could never be more than just a rebound, and that wouldn't be fair to either of them. He'd have to find a way to tell her, although with the crucial details not being things he felt comfortable sharing, it would certainly be a complicated story to tell.

The Monday morning rush hour was coming on, of course - just Richard's luck that an actor's one day off was the first day 'on' for the rest of the world. He squeezed himself into a train car and focused his mental efforts on simply not vomiting on anyone during his trek home. With the crush of crowds and the din of hundreds of voices, it took a great deal of concentration to simply hold himself together.

It was a relief to get into the quiet of his own apartment. Richard sank onto the couch, with not enough energy to make it any further than that. On the table, his answering machine light glowed red, and Richard pushed 'play.'

"Hi, Richard." The blood drained out of Richard's face, leaving him tingly and numb all at once. His whole body felt suddenly cold. "It's me. Lee." On the recording, Lee took a deep breath, but Richard couldn't breathe at all.

"Look, I... I've been thinking. I think I was... I made up my mind too fast, I wasn't... it wasn't fair. To you. And I'd... look, I'd like to talk. If you want to. Try to figure things out." Lee's voice hitched at that last phrase, and there was a long pause. Richard was about to turn the recording off when Lee's voice returned. "I miss you. Please call me." Then there was a click, and the flat went silent.

At first the only sound that came out of Richard's mouth was a quiet, wordless sob of disbelief.

"Oh my god," Richard whimpered, curling in on himself. He'd fucked up - he'd really fucked up. But there was only one thing to do now. He stared at the phone for a good long while, picked up, and dialed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to write the sex scene that occurs in this chapter, but I felt like it might seem like salt in the wound for people, so I'm going to post it separately as an optional "deleted" scene.
> 
> Ugghhh I'm sorry :c But I love to break my characters' hearts. I'll put them back together again, I promise!


	3. Lost Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee is in London struggling to work on his piece and deal with his feelings about Richard.

Lee had thought he'd known what he wanted his next piece to be. It was why he'd contacted the Tate, why they'd brought him over to London now, to do the physical work that would culminate all the thinking he'd been doing back at home: thinking and thinking and  _thinking_ about a topic that had always seemed too selfish to spend that much time thinking about: himself. He'd never been particularly concerned with the matter of expressing himself with his art - he'd been too busy thinking about others. That had changed now - or, at least, he was hoping it would change over the process.

With all that thinking, though, it had been hard for Lee to come up with a way to make his ponderings visible. He loved the interactive nature of his previous pieces, and didn't want to give that up, and that was when he'd had his first solid idea, the idea that had spurred him to contact the Tate and tell them he was ready. It was a simple idea, requiring only a good pen and a few hundred sticky notes.

He'd been picked up at the airport and taken to the museum to shake a few hands, then to his hotel room, where he'd promptly passed out, despite it still being early evening. He'd risen at an ungodly hour, too early to go out for supplies to begin his work, so he was glad he'd already thought to pack a booklet of the little notes and a broad black marker. Charged with a surprising amount of energy for this time of day, he jumped in and began.

'Lee,' he scrawled on the top note, then peeled it off and stuck it firmly to the wall over the little desk in his room. He followed it with 'artist,' 'performer,' 'performance artist,' all stuck up in a row under his name. He looked down at the pad of notes, gnawing on the end of his pen. 'Chickasha,' he wrote, 'Houston,' 'Riyadh,' 'New York City,' and stuck them all to the wall. He took a breath, trying to think. 'Gay,' he wrote. 'Queer.' 'Pansy.' 'Fag.' Seeing them on the wall made him squirm with discomfort, but it felt good in a way to apply the words of his own volition.

Lee looked at the pad of empty notes, bent his pen toward the next one, and came up blank. He bit his lip and looked up at the twelve sticky notes on the wall. Somehow it had felt like there had been more while he was writing them. These would barely cover one arm, let alone his plan of covering his body in them. He tried to think of some other description. 'Tall,' he tried writing, but crumpled it and tossed it in the trash bin under his desk. Suddenly this grand idea seemed trite in practice.

"For fuck's sake," Lee murmured, turning back to the notepad. 'Hack,' he wrote. 'One-trick pony.' 'Failure.' He crumpled one, then smoothed it back up and stuck all three up on the wall. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the row of stupid yellow notes on the wall. This wasn't going to work - what had he been thinking? He wasn't ready to create a new piece, not when he was still in the process of figuring out who that self was he wanted to express. At least now, by himself, it would be easier to focus on that self, with no other person distracting. Right?

 

* * *

 

_He can't find it. Where is it? It was right here a moment ago - where'd he put it? Lee's apartment is a mess like it's never been before, more like Richard's when he'd first seen it. It had seemed almost cute, in a way, because_ Richard _was cute, but now it feels terrifying, piles of junk towering even over Lee's tall frame. He digs through the piles, different ones, seemingly with no purpose, because he keeps switching, and then he hears the doorknob click._

_Richard is smiling, beaming, as he walks through the door, and immediately Lee feels at ease. He rushes into Richard's arms, and the man holds him close, stroking his hair._

_What's wrong?_

_I can't find it._

_Well, where'd you see it last?_

_I don't know. I haven't seen it._

_It's okay, I'll help you._

_There's no junk anymore, just his apartment as it always is. Richard and Lee pace around the room together, looking on shelves and behind chairs. Richard raises a finger - he has an idea. He goes to the couch and lifts the cushion, and starts tugging. It comes out like liquid silver, snapping into a rectangular plane after Richard pulls the whole thing out, a little taller than the man and wide enough that he has to hold it with arms spread wide._

_Here it is! I told you we'd find it._

_Lee looks into the mirror that Richard holds. His reflection smiles back at him, and he forces his mouth into the same expression. He presses his hand to the mirror, and feels not cold glass but a warm hand._

_It's all different over here. Come on in._

_Lee laces his fingers between his reflection's and steps into the mirror, which disappears. Instead, he has stepped into Richard's arms, face to face with the man. Richard keeps smiling._

_See? It was right here._

_Lee's hands wander over Richard's body, and why hadn't he noticed before that Richard isn't wearing anything? And he isn't either, and he could have sworn they weren't naked before, but Richard's skin is warm on his as they embrace and he forgets and kisses his lips, warm and soft under his own. They're in bed now, or at least horizontal, limbs tangling and bodies moving together as one and rolling like waves, every part of his body crying out in pleasure as they couple. Richard is looking at him, and he's looking at himself as if from above, at the two of them, and both of them groan together, and_

* * *

Lee woke up with the last of a groan escaping his throat, and he clamped down on it, cutting the sound off. He was covered in sweat and wide-eyed and he was  _hard_  under the mass of twisted sheets wrapped around him. He turned to the side, half expecting to see Richard lying there, snuffling in his sleep, but the bed was empty. Right.

Lee's body curled in on itself, his eyes squeezing shut. Any concept of morning wood was quickly fading when faced with reality. It had been a week in London, a week since he'd fought with Richard, and still the loss of it cut at him, left him feeling hollow. He'd thought he'd feel free on his own, but it was the opposite: he felt trapped in his head with no one to express his thoughts and feelings to. He'd tried to work on his piece, but with no one there to talk through it with, he felt like he was just going through the process with no result in sight. A few more sticky notes had joined the ones he'd written his first morning here, but hardly enough for his needs.

He knew what he needed to do. He needed to call Richard, talk to him, maybe sort things out. He'd been hasty, judged too quickly, when what he had to do was find a way to get Richard to understand. Lee untwisted himself from the blankets that had wrapped themselves around his legs and reached over to his suitcase next to the bed to grab one of his few remaining clean pairs of underwear. He hadn't bothered to unpack yet, hadn't had the energy. He pulled on an undershirt as well, then padded over to the desk, picking up the phone.

He didn't bother thinking about time zones or even what time it was now, just dialed the number and listened to the phone ring. And ring and ring, his hands growing more jittery by the second. In the white-noise-space of the ringing phone, as he woke up more fully, Lee's reason came flooding back. Why was he calling Richard, when Richard was the one who'd messed up? And why was he calling him at nine in the morning, when it could be any ridiculous hour in New York? What could he possibly say when Richard picked up?

And then there was Richard's voice, just the recording on his answering machine, but still that low, familiar cadence, the lovely accent that sometimes he found himself thinking in after spending enough time with the man. Hearing Richard, it was like he was right there in the room with Lee, and he felt his reason dissolve away again into mindless forgiveness.

"Hi, Richard," he found himself saying. "It's me. Lee." He breathed deep, trying to compose himself before he rambled, "Look, I... I've been thinking. I think I was... I made up my mind too fast, I wasn't... it wasn't fair. To you. And I'd... look, I'd like to talk. If you want to. Try to figure things out." He'd made it through well enough until that last bit, at which his voice began to crack, tears pricking at his eyes. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, tried to keep his throat from choking up. "I miss you. Please call me." With that he tossed the phone down quickly before he could say anything else.

Lee sat there staring at the phone for a bit, doing the math in his head. In New York it would be four in the morning right now, far too early for Richard to be up. But the phone woke Richard easily - he knew, from the grumpy way Richard would trudge back to bed after answering a telemarketer's call in the early hours. So why hadn't he answered? Perhaps he was screening his calls. Perhaps when he'd heard Lee's voice, he'd made the decision not to answer, to cut this off. Perhaps Lee had fucked things up for good this time.

That thought sent Lee straight back into the nest of his covers. He'd thought to work on his piece this morning, but that was out of the question now. No, it was back into his bed, his eyes slipping shut and distressed thoughts sending him back into fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

The phone was ringing. It took Lee less than a second to think,  _Richard_ , and leap from his bed to the desk, scooping up the phone and pressing it clumsily to his face.

"Hello?" Lee asked, and there was a pause.

"Hi." It was Richard, unmistakably. Lee's breath caught in his throat.

"Hi," he croaked out in response. There was silence then, just the rustling of air at the other end of the phone line.

"You called."

"I did."

Silence again. Lee took a breath, then began.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"No," Richard said, "I'm sorry. So sorry." Lee could hear the hint of tears in his voice, and it threatened to make him break as well. Just when Lee was about to speak, Richard did, continuing, "I never should've lied to them, it wasn't right. I don't know why I..."

"I know why, Richard," Lee said softly, "I understand. It took me years to tell my parents, my friends, I get it. I just... I didn't want to go back to that place."

"It's just  _frightening_. I don't want to lose out on work I could've had just because some people's imaginations are too narrow."

"Look, when you're famous -"

"Lee, that's -"

"You  _will_  be, I know it. But my point is, you don't have to tell the world. You don't have to take me to awards shows, you don't have to do some big coming-out song-and-dance. But I know what the theatre world is like - your coworkers aren't just that, they're your  _friends_."

"And you've got to be honest with your friends," Richard finished. There was silence for a bit. "I'm tired of lying to them," Richard said, and he sounded it - he sounded exhausted, like he'd barely slept. "I'm tired of being without you."

"Me too," Lee said, and he felt a smile touch his face. "I love you." Warmth curled through him for the first time since he'd left for London.

"I love you too," Richard said, his voice cracking, and he paused. "Lee?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"I need to be honest with you, too."

"What is it?" He heard the whoosh of two heavy breaths before Richard spoke.

"Last night there was a cast party," Richard said, and already Lee felt his breath cut short. "And I got really,  _really_  drunk," Richard continued, and god, Lee knew where this was going, but he let Richard keep talking anyway, because he had to hear it. "And..." Richard took in a choked breath. "I went home with Daniela."

"Fuck," Lee said.

"Yeah, pretty much."

The silence then was palpable, even more than it had been before, while inside Lee's head, his mind was raging, full of emotions that he didn't even have the thought to process, so overwhelming were they.

"What the hell, Richard?" Lee spat.

"I was lonely, and I  _missed_  you, and - did I mention I was drunk, because I was  _drunk_ , and -"

"That's not an excuse," Lee said, surprising himself with his coldness. "That's not an excuse to cheat on me."

"I thought we'd broken up, I thought you were  _gone_  -"

"What, were you trying to go straight? Thought that would be easier?"

"You know I've dated women before, and -"

"Yeah, I thought you got over that a long time ago." There was no answer for a bit.

"Do you know how you  _sound_ , Lee?" Richard sounded wounded, but a small, petty part of Lee felt it justified.

"Do you know how  _you_  sound? You're trying to turn an argument about your  _infidelity_  into a debate on sexual identity, it's -"

"Part of me, and I can't stand you pretending it doesn't -"

" _Fuck_ , Richard, you  _fucked someone else and it fucking hurts_." Lee's voice had turned from cold to tear-choked, and now he let out a little sob, his face contorted with the effort not to cry in earnest.

"I'm sorry, I wish I hadn't -"

"Well, you  _did_." Lee dragged a hand down his face, clasping his fingers over his mouth before sliding them down to speak once more. "I don't... I don't know what to do with this, I... I don't know." Silence for a moment, but Lee could hear the question Richard wanted to ask, could hear him wondering what this meant for them. "I don't know, I - I can't talk to you about this right now."

"I'm sorry."

"I know." Lee looked at the base of the phone set, ran a thumb over the little button where the earpiece rested. "I'm going to hang up now, okay?"

"Okay." Richard sounded resigned, hollow. Lee told his hand to hang up the phone, but somehow he couldn't make the command follow through, instead listening to Richard's breathing through the phone. When he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the man was there with him, and the palpability of that made him  _want_  to forgive Richard, so badly. He knew if he didn't hang up now he'd say it, and what kind of man would that make him? Someone who suffered being cheated on and hung tight anyway, like some crooked politician's wife? Someone who gave up on himself?

He slammed the phone down before he could consider the possibility any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, this chapter was a long time coming! I was really struggling to figure out a way to write this section until I hit upon the dream idea, which gave me a way to show Lee's struggles in a more tangible, symbolic way instead of just delving into inner monologue, which is not one of my strong suits. After that, the whole thing just sort of poured out. I'm getting real busy soon, so don't expect another update for a bit, but it's in my head and just needs to be typed.


	4. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard deals with the aftermath of Lee's call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on this chapter forever, because I felt like it wasn't long enough or paced well, but I think I just need to get it out there so I can start working on what comes next!

The click of the phone hanging up rang in Richard's ears. He'd hoped, for those few seconds when Lee had stayed on the line, his breathing shaky, that he was about to change his mind, but when the call ended, so did those hopes. Richard kept the phone to his ear, wishing that instead of hearing the dial tone he was still hearing Lee's voice. It had been so wonderful to hear it, more wonderful still when, for just a moment, Lee had _forgiven_ him.

And then he'd spoiled it all - but he had to. If he hadn't told him, if he'd kept it a secret, he would've carried that guilt with him forever. And it would've come out eventually, the rumour mill of the theatre grinding the news out as it always did. If Lee was to find out, it was going to be Richard who told him; he'd made sure of it now.

Richard clutched the phone to his chest as he sank down, curling forward on the couch so his head hung down by his knees. Tears flowed freely now that he wasn't trying to hold them back, even more forcefully for how they'd been damned up. His body shook with sobs. Words replayed in his head: _That's not an excuse. I don't know what to do with this. I can't talk to you._ He'd never heard Lee's voice sound so cold before.

If he'd felt broken before, now he felt gutted, torn apart. Before, he'd had righteous anger to cut the sadness, the feeling that he was justified in his actions. Now he knew there was no one to blame but himself for this - not Lee, not Daniela, just himself. He'd fucked up, fucked up immensely, in a way he wasn't sure he could ever rectify. And to match the emotional disarray was the fact that his head was pounding, his throat raw from sick and from the sobs that wrenched themselves from it, his entire body sore and twisted. 

It took a few minutes for Richard to be able to take a breath and straighten his body up enough to set the phone back on its base, giving up hope of Lee calling back. He curled himself into a ball on the couch, intending just to rest his eyes a bit, but before he knew it, he was drifting off. He slept the rest of his day off away, in fits and bursts plagued by thoughts of Lee.

\---

Richard broke down crying that next night during 'Lily's Eyes.' He was good enough at his job that it must have just seemed to the audience that he did that every night, that it was part of the show, but he knew from the looks on the faces of the actors around him, looks of uncertainty and fear, that he hadn't quite convinced them. They all seemed to walk on eggshells around him the rest of the night, Daniela most especially.

In his dressing room, Richard stared at the vase that sat before his mirror. He'd dried the bouquet from that first night, the one Lee'd crafted for him, hanging it in his closet until the blooms were preserved, and taken it back to his dressing room. If anyone had noticed it before, they'd said nothing. Now, he wondered if all that while, he'd been subconsciously hoping someone would put it together, that he'd have to tell them and admit the whole thing. Perhaps that was why he'd never thrown it out during the past week.

Richard was startled out of thought by a light rapping at his door. The door creaked open when he gave no response, and when he looked up into the mirror in front of him, he saw Daniela tentatively entering the room and closing the door behind her, crossing to stand behind him. She laid hands to his shoulders, met his eyes in the mirror. He fought the urge to shrink away from her touch.

"Are you all right?" Daniela asked softly. "You seemed off tonight." Richard shrugged, trying to politely displace her hands, but she smoothed her fingers over his shoulders, unaware. Her touch burned him, felt utterly wrong. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, but at that Richard cringed away, wrenching himself forward away from her. Behind him, Daniela crossed her arms over her chest, looking cross in the mirror. "So what, the air of mystery dissolved? You're disappointed now?" Richard shook his head.

"No," he said, "No, it's not that." Richard looked into the mirror, at her eyes, full of confusion and anger and sadness. He turned in his chair to face her. "I've really fucked up, Daniela," he said quietly. "I should never have done that, I should've..." He sighed heavily. "I wasn't being truthful." Realization began to bloom on the woman's face.

"Did you..." Daniela's eyes turned far more angry than confused or sad. "Am I the _other woman_?" she asked angrily, and Richard had to laugh - a paltry, hollow sort of laugh.

"You're _the_ woman," Richard said. "Because the one my heart already belonged to... he's no woman."

" _He?_ "

"Lee," he said, like he was proud of it, which he _was_. He really was. "Do you remember the 'friend' I introduced you to at Menotti's?" Daniela's eyes widened in recognition. "He wasn't my friend. He was my boyfriend."

"So you're..."

"Bisexual," Richard corrected preemptively, before she could say anything else. "I was in love with him - still _am_ in love with him. But he left me... I thought he'd left me. Now he's _really_ gone."

"Because of me," Daniela said softly. "Because I... fuck, Richard, if I'd known, I'd never have -"

"And that's my fault," Richard interrupted. "My fault you didn't know. Because I was afraid to tell you, until now." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I mean, I'm still afraid to tell you, but... you deserve to know." He looked up into her face. "You were comforting and familiar, and I _used_ that, and that's unforgivable, I know it is."

"It is." Her eyes turned cold, and Richard couldn't look at her anymore. He lowered his head back down. "I really loved you, you know," Daniela said, her voice clenched down. "Back then. Ever since." She stepped back, and back again, toward the door. "I wish I hadn't," she continued as she opened the door. "Would've saved myself some trouble." And with that she was gone, the door to his dressing room slamming behind her. Richard ran to the door, pulled it open, watched her small frame hurrying away down the hall, her face buried in her hands.

"Shit," Richard murmured, and sank against the doorframe. When he looked down the hall in the other direction, he saw Patrick, with a pitying look on his face.

"You guys okay?" the man asked, sympathy in his eyes. "Isabelle said you two were, uh..." A memory floated up, of Isabelle's intrigued face when she'd caught them in the kitchen. Richard stepped out to stand before Patrick.

"You want a real rumour to spread around?" Richard asked, and he must have sounded fiercer than he'd intended, because Patrick's eyes widened and his feet shuffled back a little. "I'm with someone else - a man. Spread _that_ around, go ahead. Tell everyone." Richard stepped back into his dressing room and shut the door firmly behind him.

The bouquet on the table was the first thing that caught Richard's eye. He pulled the flowers out of the vase - no sense keeping around a memento of something that was over, a reminder of how much he'd fucked up. But as he held them in his hands, delicate little things that could so easily be crushed, he found himself not throwing them in the bin, but carefully putting them back. He stared at them, noting each carefully-chosen blossom. Something like that was too precious to throw away, not when there was a chance of preserving it. And maybe there _was_ a chance.

It wasn't too long after the show, and as Richard hurried down the hall to the stage management office, he prayed Emily would still be in. He flung open the door a bit more roughly than necessary, and smiled at the sight of Emily's surprised face as she spun in her chair to face him, curly bun bobbing at the back of her head.

"Good," Richard panted, "You're still here."

"I am," Emily said carefully. "What can I do for you, Richard?"

"I need the rest of the week off." The woman's eyebrows shot up to their highest possible arc. "You don't have to pay me, I know it's last-minute. Put the swing in; James'll be happy to get to play Neville. Tell them it's a family emergency."

" _Is_ it a family emergency?" Emily inclined her head curiously.

"It's a long, long story."

"Then start at the beginning." Richard stepped into Emily's office and took a seat in a little rolling chair facing hers. He took a deep breath.

"Have you heard of this performance artist, Lee Pace?"


End file.
